


A Helping Hand

by PenguinofProse



Series: Smutty Saturdays [9]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Mortified Bellamy, Sex Toys, Smut, Smutty Saturday, embarrassed clarke, smut with feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:21:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27310384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenguinofProse/pseuds/PenguinofProse
Summary: In which Bellamy attempts to have a joke with Clarke at the supper table and it all goes horribly wrong.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Series: Smutty Saturdays [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1930432
Comments: 46
Kudos: 180





	A Helping Hand

**Author's Note:**

> Hello here's a smutty Saturday! Once again, let's call this early S4 and hope for the best. Huge thanks to Stomrkpr for betaing it as always. Happy reading!

One of the things Bellamy loves the most about Clarke is that they have a laugh together. No matter what, whether the world is ending, whether they're marking Unity Day whilst trying to survive, whether they're preparing to fight a battle against improbable odds, she never fails to make him smile. And she seems to like those little flippant comments and awkward jokes he makes sometimes to keep the mood bearable, seems to appreciate the way he teases her.

So when Raven appears at supper and slips Clarke a package, trying and failing to do it furtively, he doesn't think twice. He just grabs the paper-wrapped parcel and holds it out at arm's length.

"What's this?" He asks, equal parts curious and teasing.

Clarke flushes. Good. He likes it when she gets flustered. "Give it back, Bellamy."

"So it's something you don't want me to see?"

She ignores him, and reaches out towards the package. So because he's a mature adult, and has led armies before now, he obviously snatches it even further away, holds it up high so she cannot reach. There are advantages to being taller than her.

The thing is, he sort of knows he's taking it too far. Clarke isn't flushed because she's flirting with him, now. She's flushed because she's genuinely annoyed and embarrassed – perhaps even _mortified_. But self control has never been his strength, so he keeps going.

"So what have we here?" He asks, beginning to open the package, all while holding it away so she can't reach. "What's so secret that you -?"

The question dies on his lips the moment he gets the paper unwrapped. This is a long, slim object of cold metal. And when he nudges a button on the end, it buzzes lightly in his hand.

Well crap.

This doesn't look much like the vibrators he's seen in pictures and movies from Earth before the bombs. It's more rustic, and the material is different. But all the same, he's pretty certain that a vibrator is what it is.

Raven gave Clarke a carefully wrapped vibrator. Secretively. And he's just unwrapped it and brandished it in the supper hall.

Crap crap crap crap crap. Crap.

He's not sure who's more embarrassed – himself or Clarke. It's not the concept of sex toys in themselves that's bothering him. It's more that this is hardly the time or the place to be waving one around in midair. And besides which, this is _Clarke_. He's been irrevocably falling in love with her since the moment they landed on this damn planet last year. So the fact that he's holding _her vibrator_ is doing all kinds of strange things to his insides.

He's hurt. That's one of the things he's feeling. Why does she need to own a vibrator when he's right here? He'd help her out, if she needs an orgasm or two. Doesn't she realise that? What does she think all the long stares and careful protectiveness are about, if not that he has something of a crush on her?

Is it worse than that? Does she know how he feels, but prefer to use a mechanical aid rather than even considering the idea of inviting him into her bed?

There's another feeling, though. There's his cock jumping to attention, his belly stirring with arousal. He's altogether far too turned on, considering this is the supper hall. But he just can't help it, when he thinks about Clarke pleasuring herself with this toy.

"I should probably give you this back." He tries for a teasing tone, and fails.

"That might be best." Clarke positively _growls_ , eyes fixed on her tray.

He tries to wrap the paper back around the vibrator. He knows the damage is done, but he's desperate to make amends if at all possible.

It's not possible. He knows that, because of the way Clarke snatches the toy from his hand and strides from the room, leaving her supper uneaten behind her.

There's a heavy pause. He's aware that people are probably staring, but he avoids their eyes because he prefers to pretend they aren't. He looks at his food, but he doesn't fancy eating quite so much as he did a few minutes ago.

The he realises Raven is still there.

"Don't go after her." She says briskly. "Not yet, anyway. Give her some time to calm down. Go see her later."

"She won't want to see me." He says automatically.

Raven snorts. "She will. As long as you get it right."

That's cryptic, Bellamy thinks. And not the most helpful advice in the world. Raven is probably the person who knows Clarke best, apart from himself, and she's a young woman close to Clarke in emotional matters, he thinks. He could use a clue from her, really.

Before he has chance to ask her to clarify, Raven is gone.

Bellamy sighs. He supposes he'll just have to go see Clarke later and apologise for exposing her masturbation habits to the whole supper hall. And maybe give her a hint that he's happy to help her out, if she's in a dry patch.

Who's he kidding? He's _desperate_ to help her out. He's been desperate to help her out for months. And he's not sure his pride can take laying it out for her like that, not sure he's ready to cope with the sting of her probable rejection. He's no Lexa, after all. He's not some stunning young woman who can lead her people through a crisis.

He's just a janitor who can't even get a bit of teasing at the supper table right.

He eats a couple more mouthfuls of his dinner, then abandons the idea altogether. He takes both his and Clarke's trays back to the servery, because that's at least something he can do.

Maybe janitors do have their uses, after all.

…...

He tries to distract himself for a while, remembering what Raven said earlier about letting Clarke calm down. He reads for a few minutes, but the words don't sink in. He does three laps of the bar, but sees no one he recognises and fancies grabbing a drink with. He changes into his good T shirt, even though he knows that is silly. Clarke is no more likely to forgive him based on how frayed the edges of his sleeves are.

At last, he cannot convince himself to wait any longer. He's going crazy here. He can't stop thinking about Clarke's flushing cheeks and her pursed lips and her holding that vibrator to her -

Nope. He needs to stop right there. He's supposed to be putting things right, not making them worse.

He walks to her room – or half-jogs, really. He knocks on the door, shifts his weight nervously from foot to foot as he waits for her response. No. He shouldn't do that. He looks silly, not calm and in control. He clasps his hands at his hips and tries to look composed.

Also attractive and well-built and things. That too. This is his better T shirt, after all. He might as well make the most of the way it strains a little around his shoulders. If he can convince her he's worth a try at getting her off instead of that vibrator, that has to be a start, right?

"Who is it?" She calls, door still closed.

"Me. Bellamy." He takes a deep breath. "I just wanted to tell you how -"

"I'm sorry." She tells him, pulling the door open. "I'm so sorry, Bellamy. I shouldn't have caused a scene like that."

He gulps, wonders how to react to that. "Last thing I checked, it was me who caused the scene." He offers lightly.

She grins, but it seems to cost her more effort than usual. They stand there – her inside the door, him outside. Both trying to smile, both not quite succeeding.

Bellamy tries again.

"I'm sorry." He says simply. "I didn't mean to embarrass you. I was just joking around. Can I come in and we can talk about it?"

She nods and steps aside. He walks through the door, then dithers hopelessly just inside the threshold.

"You can sit on the bed." She says, slightly exasperated.

Good. He usually sits on the bed when he's hanging out in her room – there are no other chairs. But he wasn't sure if he was allowed to sit on the bed, now, after what just happened at supper. Reassured, he takes a seat.

"I'm sorry for freaking out." Clarke says, sitting at his side, and he gathers that she really does want to apologise. He thinks that's silly, because he's pretty sure she's done nothing wrong. But if it's important to her, he wants to show her the respect of accepting her words.

"That's OK. I can understand why you did." He says carefully.

"It's stupid of me. It's just a – a sex toy. People use them. I shouldn't have been so embarrassed." She sucks in a breath. "I hope this won't... change anything, Bellamy. I hope this won't make our friendship awkward."

He hesitates. That sounded a lot like an opening, to his mind. An opportunity. A _chance_.

He gathers his courage and reaches for that chance with open arms.

"Or maybe it could change things." He suggests lightly. "I don't know. I mean – now I know you like getting off, right? And that you don't have anyone to do that with." He sees her bristle at that, rushes into his final point. "So that could change things – because I could offer to help you out instead of that vibrator."

"What are you saying?" She asks, cautious.

He frowns. Did he not make himself clear? Or is she just slower on the uptake than usual, today?

"I'm saying we could have sex sometimes. If you want. You know, if you're in a dry spell or whatever." He waits with baited breath for her response.

She doesn't laugh, so that's good. But she doesn't sound terribly convinced, either, as she speaks. "You'd do that, Bellamy? That sounds like it's taking friendship a bit far. Above and beyond the call of duty, you know?"

All at once, he snaps. It's been coming on a long time, he supposes. But he is sick to death of this woman's oblivious ingratitude, of the way she seems not to notice him trailing after her like a kicked puppy. It makes him feel pathetic, and he doesn't like it. He's been stomping round battlefields after her and risking life and limb for her almost since the moment they landed. And besides which, he stares at her _a lot_. She surely can't have missed all that.

"I'm not offering out of _friendship_ , am I, Clarke? I'm offering because I've gone and fallen in love with you." He spits out, annoyed with himself for being so _weak_ , annoyed with her for bringing out that weakness in him.

Well. Now he's really put his foot in it. There's no taking the words back, so he supposes he'll just have to sit here and wait for the ground to swallow him up. He risks a look at Clarke's face, finds her blinking, mouth hanging slightly open.

"You're in love with me?" She echoes, quiet. He's never heard her sound quite like that, and it's a little frightening. She sounds kind of _shaky_ , somehow.

"I'm in love with you." He admits. There's no sense in hiding it. But he really has gone and screwed up their friendship today, he thinks. Waving that vibrator around in the supper hall was one thing. But confessing his love to a woman who thinks love is weakness, and who would leave him to live in Polis with the woman who's more her type?

He's definitely made a mess of things now.

Clarke's lips take him by surprise. He just isn't expecting them at all. He's expecting anger, and to be thrown out of her room in disgrace. But here she is, lips hot and wet against his as she kisses him messily. And then she's sort of wrestling him back onto the mattress, climbing on top of him, straddling his hips as she keeps on kissing him.

He is half-buried in her unmade bedsheets by the time his head catches up with his stuttering heart.

"Clarke?" He pulls away from the kiss. "Is this – you want me instead of the vibrator?" He guesses, because that seems like the obvious explanation.

She rolls her eyes, still straddling him. "I'm – I – you know." She sucks in a breath. "I love you."

He freezes. He must have misheard her. That's not true, surely? Things this good do not happen to him. A wry little voice in his mind points out that things this good do not tend to happen to _Clarke_ , either.

Maybe they're both due a change of luck.

"You mean that?" He asks, stunned. "You really mean that? Then how come you never said anything?"

"I didn't think I needed to. I thought the fact I kept staring at your mouth was a giveaway." She laughs nervously. "And the bit where I begged Roan to let you live. And the day I traded fifty spots in Arkadia for your life. And -"

He cuts her off with a kiss. It's his turn to catch her by surprise, he figures. And although it makes him feel kind of warm and special, to listen to her list the evidence of her love for him, he much prefers kissing her.

There's also the fact it doesn't only make him feel special. It makes him feel phenomenally stupid, too. Have they really been pining after each other all this time? Both too scared and with too many bad experiences to dare to make a move?

Never mind. Time to put that behind them. Time to get on with bringing Clarke pleasure.

They kiss for a long time, but to call it _kissing_ feels like an understatement. It's more, even, than _making out_. There are limbs tangled together, lips tracing down his neck, his hand combing through Clarke's hair. There's Clarke on top, and now Bellamy on top, and then he's crawling away down the bed, kissing her on the lips once more for good measure as he goes.

"Where are you going?" She asks, peevish.

"To get you off. Isn't that the deal? I'm your new sex toy?" He teases brightly.

To his surprise, she doesn't laugh, or smile, or grab his head and shove it cheerfully towards her crotch. Quite the opposite – she frowns, stiff, and flinches away from him.

"Clarke?"

"You're not _my new sex toy_." She bites out, and she sounds really rather upset. "You're – you're _you_. You're my best friend, and I love you. And I know you were joking but just – just don't, OK? Don't joke about that. Don't joke like you think you're not important." She swallows loudly. "You're really important to me."

He blinks, eyes damp. When he fantasised about having sex with Clarke for the first time, he never dreamed she'd go and make him _cry_. But he's definitely got a couple of tears to contend with, here. He just never dreamed he'd hear her ordering him to value himself more highly when he was on the point of putting his face between her legs.

To be fair, maybe it shouldn't come as a surprise. She has been trying to boost his self worth since they first sat together beneath that tree last September, he thinks.

He abandons the idea of oral, for now at least. He needs to go kiss her, needs to hold her close to his chest as he splays his hand at her waist and pulls her tight against him. She responds in kind, kissing him urgently, holding him tight. He really does like eating girls out, as a rule. He likes the noises they make, finds the positive feedback is rather good for his self esteem.

But having Clarke kiss him like her happiness depends on it? It turns out he likes that even more.

He decides it's time to try something. Clarke is special, so he ought to take a special approach in the bedroom with her. He's not going to go down on her on autopilot because that's what past experience suggests women like. He's going to start a conversation about what she actually wants.

"Is there anything you want us to try?" He mutters, self conscious, between kisses.

She laughs. "Sex?"

He kisses her teasingly on the nose. "Anything more specific?"

She considers that for a moment. He kisses her while she's thinking. She can contemplate and kiss at the same time, surely? And he's beginning to consider any moment he's not kissing Clarke as a moment wasted.

"I want to be able to hold you." She murmurs at last. "So I don't really mind what we do. Just something that we both enjoy and where I can hold you."

He sighs in pleasure at the sheer idea of that. It's stupid, but there's something so heartfelt about the way she says the words, as if she's honestly been dreaming of holding him tight in her arms and making him feel special.

Damn it, but she's doing a great job of that.

He decides to keep it simple, slow, gentle. There will be other days for frantically thrusting into her from behind as she rests on all fours, he decides. In fact, he looks forward to it. But if she wants something enjoyable, with plenty of physical contact, he has an idea or two.

He simply rearranges himself slightly where they lie tangled together on the bed. He shifts his hips down, scissors his legs together with Clarke's. He eases his cock inside of her, holds her tight as she moans at the fullness.

"Good?" He asks, although he knows what her answer will be.

"Perfect." She confirms, pressing a kiss to his neck.

With that, he starts to move. It's not the ideal angle to get much power behind his hips – in fact, he thinks wryly, the vibrator would probably have given her better stimulation. But he's pretty convinced that Clarke doesn't actually _care_. She's clinging to him so tightly, kissing him so eagerly, that he's certain she's getting closer even without much energetic thrusting.

He's honestly starting to feel what she said earlier, about loving him and valuing him. It's not that he didn't _believe_ her when she first said it, as such. It's more that it's only just sinking in, now, when she's wrapped up in his embrace and sighing his name.

She comes quickly, and it's not that she clenches around him particularly hard but she does seem to hang there, fluttering, unbreathing, for a good few seconds.

And then she sighs, loud and long, and buries her face in his neck.

"That was so good." She tells him, as if he didn't already guess as much.

He makes a pleased sort of humming sound, kisses her some more. He flips her gently onto her back, and rearranges himself inside of her. That was intimate and fun and all, but she's got him pretty wound up, now. He needs to up the pace a little, needs to chase his own orgasm.

But he needs to make Clarke happy, too. Hopefully he can find a way to balance both.

He starts moving faster, harder, hands either side of her shoulders so he doesn't crush her with his weight. She seems to object to that, though. She pulls at his arms, tugs him down towards her. Holds him tight when he relaxes more deeply onto her, clutching at his back and refusing to let him go.

Huh. Well. Apparently she's into being half-crushed. Who knew?

"You OK?" He checks, because he needs to ask. He needs to hear it from her. Between the way he's resting his full weight on her and the fact he's screwing her much harder than he was just now, he needs to check in and know that she's comfortable.

"I'm great. I think I might come again." She says, with a sort of curious detachment that is very _Clarke_ , he can't help but think.

He grins to himself, even as he keeps kissing her. It makes the kiss messier, but he doesn't much care. He loves Clarke, and he loves making love with her, it turns out. But even more than that, he loves the way she's so truly herself in the bedroom. She's exactly the woman he knows outside of these walls – pragmatic, a little fierce, a lot more vulnerable than she likes to let on.

It's when she starts moaning again that he really loses it. Based on what she said just now, he guesses that she wasn't quite expecting two orgasms in a row. But he can hear that she's right on the edge, now, and the mixture of pride that he made this happen and being turned on by her arousal is doing dangerous things to his insides.

He bucks his hips harder, hears Clarke hiss in response. Crap. He freezes, panicked.

"Don't stop." She gasps. "It's good."

It's good? Was that a _good_ hiss? Is that a noise Clarke makes in bed sometimes, beyond the more standard moans and groans?

He starts to move again. He buries his face in her neck. He bites his lip, hard. And then he falls apart completely, spilling inside of her, groaning an embarrassingly heartfelt love confession. She's right there, too, coming rather harder this time as she pulses around him, teasing him through the last of his orgasm.

"Love you too." She murmurs against his ear, while he lies still on top of her. "Sorry. I didn't have enough breath to say it just then."

He laughs lightly and pulls out, settling in for a cuddle by her side instead. He's not quite sure who's hugging whom, only that they are hopelessly tangled together. He's kind of stunned by how the last hour has turned out, he doesn't mind admitting it. When he watched Clarke storm out of supper, he didn't think he'd find himself here, laughing together, exchanging love confessions in the midst of pleasure.

It's Bellamy who starts the kiss. He's not usually in the mood for much more after he's come. Usually, once he's felt that release and the kick of happy chemicals, he's pretty content to fall asleep or wave his partner off on their way home. But kissing Clarke is absolutely addictive, after all this time he's spent waiting for it. So he enjoys making out with her lazily for several long minutes.

At length, she pulls away from his lips.

"I guess I won't be needing that vibrator after all?" She says, trying for a light tone, but he thinks he can hear real insecurity beneath her words.

"I guess not. I mean, it's probably better for some things than I am. But I plan on sticking around, so if you're satisfied -"

"I'm satisfied." She interrupts him firmly. "Vibrators don't love like you do."

That ought to be a statement of the obvious. Naturally that piece of cold metal does not have a heart. But he gets the feeling she's not just talking about his emotions – she's talking about the whole package, the touching and the kissing and holding each other close, as well as the affection and loyalty and deep protectiveness.

…...

Bellamy is still in Clarke's room the following morning. More specifically, he's still in her arms, still in her _bed_. And above all, he's still very much in her life.

They walk to breakfast together. They don't hold hands all the way there, because he senses that's not really Clarke's style. But their fingers touch some of the time, and they share the occasional passing kiss. In short, they occupy each other's personal space even more than they used to, and make no secret of the shift in their relationship.

Clarke is keeping a small secret, though. Bellamy realises this when they sit down with their food, and he watches her slide a clumsily wrapped vibrator discreetly across the table to Raven.

"I don't need this any more." Clarke says briskly. "Can I get a refund?"

Raven snorts. "A refund?"

"It's unused." Clarke says, defensive. Bellamy tries not to look too smug about that, and probably fails.

Raven shakes her head. "Clarke. I trade black market sex toys for scrap metal. Why would I give you a _refund_? And I already used the scrap metal you traded for someone else's commission."

Bellamy chokes a little on his porridge. He never realised this was a whole _business_. How many of Raven's gadgets are currently in use in Arkadia? He sees Monty and Harper throw a furtive look at each other further down the table, and wonders quite how widespread this trend might be.

Hmm. Maybe there's something in this after all.

"You don't need a refund, Clarke." He says lightly, brushing a thumb over her knuckles as he reaches his hand out towards the offending toy and places it back on his own tray. "We can play with it together. It might be fun to try something different."

Raven snickers. Harper smirks. Monty flushes brightly, his eyes fixed on his food. Miller slaps Bellamy on the back, a little harder than he thinks is strictly necessary.

But Bellamy has only eyes for Clarke, and for the teasing light in her eyes as she nods her agreement.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
